


It's Like Deja Vu (All Over Again)

by shadowsong26



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Obi-Wan and Dorme and a few others make brief appearances, Referenced Genocide, Referenced murder, Time Travel AU, but for the most part it's just Anakin and Padme, crossposted from tumblr, which is why the others aren't tagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 10:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsong26/pseuds/shadowsong26
Summary: Three days ago, Padme Amidala closed her eyes for the last time in a sterile white room on an asteroid at the edge of nowhere. Three days ago, she opened them again on a sleek, chrome starship, watching Dorme putting on the finishing touches to Corde's headdress, her own weighted braids a comforting blanket on her back.Padme decides to change things, decides she can save Anakin (and the Galaxy) this time. Except, as time passes, she starts to realize things aren't happening exactly the way she remembers...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I originally wrote this and posted it to tumblr a couple years ago, for May the Fourth of 2017, I believe? Possibly 2016, but 2017 seems likelier. Anyway, I decided to bump it for Valentine's Day this year (2019) and...after some encouragement over there, I figured I'd share it with all of you guys here, too. This is essentially unedited from the tumblr version; I skimmed through for typos and rephrased a couple things that felt clunky/maybe needed some clarification, but didn't add or remove anything significant.
> 
> Anyway. Thanks for stopping by, Happy Belated Valentine's Day, please enjoy this time-travel-induced role-reversal of Anakin and Padme's courtship. ~<3 shadowsong

Three days ago, Padme Amidala closed her eyes for the last time in a sterile white room on an asteroid at the edge of nowhere.

Three days ago, she opened them again in a sleek, chrome starship, watching Dorme put the finishing touches on Corde’s headdress, her own weighted braids a comforting blanket on her back.

(She made a quick check of the landing gear before getting into her fighter, and disconnected the bomb she found. She’d forgotten about the backup, but just that one was enough, so Corde didn’t  _die.)_

That was about when she figured out it was real. She was somehow back in her past, somehow able to  _change_  things.

It was, she had to acknowledge, too late to stop the War. But she had three years to change how it  _ended._  Three years to take Palpatine down before he won. Three years to save the Republic.

And Anakin.

She had a chance, a real chance here, to make sure that the good in her husband didn’t get wiped out. Even if she’d been wrong in the future (she hadn’t been, but even if), she  _knew_  it was still true here and now. And she knew what to look for–the warning signs–and she could keep him close this time, guide him back from the brink. She wasn’t–-

She’d been blind, the first time. She’d been unwilling to see until it was too late for even  _her_  to do anything to save him. And maybe some of that was just the limits on their time–they’d seen each other only in fits and starts, because of the war–so maybe she just hadn’t been  _there_  to see it. But some of it was denial. She knew that now. She was willing to admit it.

_But not this time,_  she promised herself grimly, as she and Typho and Dorme got Corde to a hospital.  _This time, I get to_ keep  _Ani. This time, Palpatine will_  lose.

Once she left the landing platform, the next hours were a blur of rapid motion. She interrupted the announcement of her own untimely death to address the Senate–she barely remembered what she’d said, but it got a strong reaction, which was the important thing–and then touched base with her friends and allies.

And Bail.

Bail, who had been there at the end; who would be a solid rock of support for years to come. She couldn’t remember when he’d caught on to Palpatine’s treachery–-though, to be fair, she could barely remember when  _she’d_  figured it out–-but in time…in time, she knew she could count on him. No matter what.

But then came the part she’d been dreading.

The part when she and the rest of the Loyalist Committee marched over to the Chancellor’s office, to start asking the necessary questions about the attempt on her life, and Dooku’s probable role in it.

The part when she had to look Palpatine in the eye, accept his insincere sympathy, and act like she suspected nothing.

_Think about Corde,_  she told herself.  _Focus on her, not how much you want to rip his face off._

Soon.  _Soon,_  she would kill him, but she had to figure out a way that couldn’t be tied to her. First, because killing him would only solve _most_ of their problems. Dooku was still out there, for one thing; and Palpatine had, often enough, just exacerbated existing problems in the Republic to claw his way into power, rather than actively  _creating_  them. If she wanted to save the Republic, _really, truly_ save it, she couldn’t very well be arrested for assassinating the Chancellor.

Besides, if Ani ever found out, it would just end up destroying him a different way. Even if, this time, he saw Palpatine for what he really was. And she  _refused_  to let that happen.

Though, there was that--the fact that at least _some_ good would come of the meeting. Because it was  _also_  the part when she was assigned Anakin and Obi-Wan as additional security.

She played her role as best she could through the conversation, held on to her mask and her composure. Palpatine’s cold, empty blue eyes seemed to slide past her. As far as she knew, she’d pulled it off.

_Good._

Because so long as he kept underestimating her, so long as his eyes kept sliding by, he would be caught off guard when she came for him. And she  _would_  come for him.

But first, she had other work to do.

First, she had to see Anakin again.

First, she had to save  _him._

* * *

 

“Senator Padme!” Jar Jar chirped from the door.

_Here goes nothing._  She took a deep breath, suddenly nervous for the first time since she’d landed in the past and decided what she was going to do.

Because she loved Anakin. She  _loved_  him. He was good, and he was kind, and he cared boundlessly about her and so many other things.

But three days ago–three days ago, he had gone insane and tried to  _kill_  her.

As much as she loved him, as much as she _knew_ he could be saved–-especially from where she was starting–-she didn’t know how she was going to react to actually  _seeing_  him.

_He’s not there yet,_  she reminded herself.  _He’s still–-he’s not there yet. And if you do this right, he never will be. Worrying about it before it’s even a problem isn’t going to help. If you–-if you freeze, figure it out from there. Now, turn around._

She turned, following Typho in from the window. And there was her dear friend Obi-Wan, just as she’d remembered, back before he’d cut his hair, and standing next to him–-

_Oh._

Tall and lanky, not quite filled out yet, with his hands hidden awkwardly up his sleeves, was Anakin.

_Her_  Anakin.

Young and uncertain, full of passions and hopes and dreams he couldn’t name, except that all he wanted–-all he had  _ever_  wanted–-was to protect the people he loved. Back before that desire, that _need,_ had been corrupted by Palpatine and the war and all the horrors of the next three years.

This was not the Anakin she’d lost on Mustafar. This was the Anakin she’d found at Varykino.

And she did  _not_  freeze.

_Thank every deity in the known universe._

He caught her eye, flushed, and looked down at the ground, and any traces left of her half-formed fears melted away.

_I knew it. I_ knew  _he would still be–-I_ knew  _it._

Obi-Wan bowed, politely, drawing her attention back to the conversation at hand. “It’s a great pleasure to see you again, milady.”

_More than you know._  He looked–-good. Younger, too–-she hadn’t realized how much the war had aged him–and, if serious about the situation, truly, honestly happy to see her.

She smiled, genuinely, and accepted his hand in greeting. “It has been far too long, Master Kenobi.” And then, unable to help herself, she turned to Anakin, hovering nervously in the background.

“Ani,” she breathed, then caught herself. “You’ve…you’ve grown.”

_…wow. That was, I think, the single most_ inane  _thing that’s ever come out of my mouth._

“You’ve…grown,” he said. “I mean. Um. Beautiful. I. Um.” He looked over at Obi-Wan, who arched an eyebrow at him, then down at his feet again.

_…suddenly I feel a lot better about what_ I  _said,_  she thought suppressing the urge to giggle. Which maybe wasn’t very nice of her, but–-well, Anakin wasn’t always the best with words. He had learned many things from Obi-Wan. How to flirt was  _not_  one of them.  _It’s okay, love. We get better at that part. At least a little bit. And we’ll have all the time in the world to practice now._

“That’s very sweet of you to say,” she said, smiling at him. “Thank you.”

He peeked up at her and gave an uncertain, shy little smile back–-not his full one, the one that always made her go weak at the knees; but a softer, smaller version that warmed her heart almost as much.

Dorme touched her elbow lightly, and she realized she’d probably let the moment go on too long.

“Please,” she said, gesturing towards the main sitting area and leading the way; perching on one of the couches and waiting for the Jedi to settle across from her.

“I know you’re not entirely comfortable with this situation,” Obi-Wan said, “but our presence will be invisible, milady, I can assure you.”

_No it won’t,_  she thought. Anakin and Obi-Wan, together and separately, were many things. But  _invisible?_  Not likely.

_“I_  am very grateful you are here, Master Kenobi,” Captain Typho cut in. “I’m Captain Typho, of Her Majesty’s security service. And the situation is more dangerous than the Senator will admit.”

_I admit that it’s serious,_  she protested inside her head.  _Corde nearly_  died.  _I just refuse to let it interfere with my work. There’s a difference._

But out loud, all she said was, “I don’t need more security, I need answers. I want to know who is trying to kill me.”

“We’re here to protect you, Senator,” Obi-Wan said, apologetically. “Not start an investigation.”

Anakin, next to him on the couch, shifted a little. “It might be difficult to protect her, Master, if we don’t know what the threat actually is.”

Obi-Wan turned an arched an eyebrow at him.

“I mean, wouldn’t an investigation be in the interests of–-?”

“Anakin,” he cut in, warningly. “We will not exceed our mandate.”

He held his ground a moment longer. “It could be argued that an investigation is implied in our mandate.”

“We will do exactly as the Council has instructed, Padawan,” Obi-Wan said, and there was a finality in his tone.

It was the same argument they’d had the first time, she remembered. Except…it wasn’t, or, not exactly. The tension between them was still there, but it wasn’t quite as pronounced. Anakin was still a bundle of nerves, but he wasn’t–-he had a better handle on things.

_…something’s different about him,_  she thought. Not  _dangerous_  different, not  _bad_  different, but–-different. He was a little steadier. Like he had been–-oh, maybe around the middle of the war. After his relationship with Ahsoka had taken its real shape, when things might have been locked in an endless stalemate but hadn't yet gotten their bleakest. Back when he was secure in himself and his abilities and his relationships, and had not-infrequent moments of genuine happiness.

She wasn’t exactly sure  _why,_  but she wouldn’t say she didn’t appreciate it.

_I’ll make sure it lasts, this time._

Anakin, at length, had broken eye contact with Obi-Wan. “As you say, Master,” he muttered. He didn’t sound happy, but he was conceding the point with as much grace as he ever conceded anything.

_You’re right and he’s wrong,_  she thought.  _Well, maybe not about the mandate, I don’t know exactly what the Council’s orders were. But knowing what you’re fighting against would help. And you_ will  _end up investigating._

“Perhaps,” she said, into the still-slightly-uncomfortable silence, “with merely your presence, the mysteries surrounding this threat will be revealed.”

“Not if it puts you in any danger, milady,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan shot him another look.

_…I think that’s my cue to let them work this out between themselves, and strategize with Typho._

“With you here, I can hardly imagine I would be,” she said, and rose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will retire.”

The two Jedi rose with her and bowed, and she headed for the bedroom, Dorme behind her.

_That went well,_  she thought.  _…now all I have to do is find something to distract myself from the memory of those creepy centipede things in my_  bed.

She shuddered a little at the thought.  _Not_  something she was looking forward to reliving.

“Milady?” Dorme asked.

“Did  _you_  really want to sit there any longer?” she asked, in an undertone.

“I didn’t realize Jedi argued like that,” Dorme admitted.

“You’d be surprised,” she said, dryly.

She could hear Obi-Wan and Typho behind her, talking seriously; she couldn’t quite make out the words; she could feel Anakin’s eyes on her, and she resisted the urge to turn back and look at him.

She shook her head.  _Focus._  “I have some calls to return, anyway. Want to play a couple rounds of sabaac when I finish? I shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.”

Dorme bowed. “I’ll let Teckla know.”

“Excellent,” she said, and smiled before heading to her desk and getting to work. She’d be leaving Coruscant all too soon, and, with the advantage of her foreknowledge, planned to get as many things settled before she left as she possibly could.

 

* * *

 

Anakin had received his instructions; and Padme hers, through Palpatine. Her skin crawled again when she spoke to him, even by holocomm. She only hoped it didn’t show too much.

She briefed Jar Jar as best she could, and went into her room to finish packing, in almost as foul a mood as she had been the first time. Leaving aside the rotten taste Palpatine had left in her mouth…even though she’d made preparations for her absence; even though she knew that, in the grand scheme of things, leaving with Anakin might actually be  _more_  important than staying for the vote–-the opposition to the Military Creation Act had been almost entirely her brainchild. Hers and Bail Organa’s. Having to walk away from it at the last minute still hurt.

“Is everything all right, milady?” Anakin asked her softly, and she stalked past him.

_Clearly not._  Which–-well, even without Jedi intuition, he probably knew that. He was just trying to make conversation, show his support, in his own awkward way.

She sighed. “I don’t like hiding,” she said. Which was also true. Waiting somewhere safe while other people fought and suffered had never sat well with her. She’d  _much_  rather be left with her tongue, her wits, and a blaster just in case and set to work.

Anakin smiled a little at her–-a crooked little half-smile; still not his real one. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Now that the Council has ordered an investigation, it won’t take Master Obi-Wan long to find out what’s really going on.”

“I know,” she said. “But there’s so much to do here. Things I’ve spent  _ages_  preparing to do.” Anakin had let her vent the first time, too. Might as well take advantage of that again. “I haven’t worked as hard as I have to defeat the Military Creation Act not to be here when its fate is decided.”

He sighed. “Sometimes we have to let go of our pride and do what is requested of us.”

Which was exactly the same thing he’d said the first time. It was reassuring, almost, with all the little things that seemed unaccountably different. And it was still good advice.

Not that  _either_  of them had ever been very good at  _following_  it.

Still, it deserved to be acknowledged. “You’ve grown up,” she said, trying to let how much that pleased her shine through her voice.

He flushed and dropped his eyes, heading towards the window. He picked up a metal ball from a stand on the sill and let it float in a graceful arc over his right hand.

She watched it–-she had always loved his hands; long fingers, sure and deft whether buried in droid parts, or gripped tight around his lightsaber, or touching her skin.

Not, she suddenly realized, that he had ever touched her with  _that_  hand.

_It hasn’t happened yet._  Granted, it was coming soon, and there wasn’t exactly a lot  _she_  could do about it, but…

She shook her head, trying to dispel the flash of grief at the thought. “Obi-Wan has taught you well,” she said instead.

“Obi-Wan has been a very good mentor for me,” Anakin agreed, his eyes still on the shiny metal ball, which he now sent spinning in intricate patterns around his fingers. “He’s very…very different from Master Qui-Gon.”

_From…wait, what?_

For a split second Padme just blinked, hopelessly confused, and then–-

She had the strangest sense of double vision. Because she  _remembered_  Qui-Gon Jinn’s funeral; she  _remembered_  standing next to Palpatine and watching the body burn.

But she  _also_  somehow remembered the parade the next day, and looking over at Anakin and seeing the Jedi Master standing behind him, hands on his shoulders.

_But-–what–-wh–-but–-Obi-Wan’s training him now, how…?_

More memories, that were and were not hers, crowded into her mind. Master Jinn  _had_  died, she recalled–but about  _six_  years ago, not ten. She’d…she’d released a statement at the time, hadn’t she? Because of the role he’d played during the Crisis, she’d had to. She must have.

_Did I…this is…this is not the past I remember._

“Pad-–milady, are you all right?” Anakin’s voice, pitched slightly higher with concern, called her back to herself and–-

Huh.

She blinked again, and shook her head to clear it.

After the initial shock, once her memories snapped into place-–integrated–-landing in a different past wasn’t all  _that_  much more surreal than time-travelling in general. Her life had  _already_  turned into one of those terrible cheap novels she absolutely didn’t read, what was one more bizarre thing?

_I guess if there’s a limit to how much strangeness I can tolerate, I haven’t hit it yet._  She decided to be grateful for that, accept it, and move on. Her goals–-her plans–-didn’t need to change.

She  _was_  a little worried, though. Depending on how much  _else_  had changed, it might actually be harder to save Anakin. On the other hand, he did seem…steadier than before. Maybe Master Jinn’s influence would help her, even now, years later.

Either way, as soon as she got a chance, she needed to do some quick research. She doubted  _her_  personal timeline had changed much, but who knew what else might have? She couldn’t necessarily depend on her memories to guide her way.

But Anakin was staring at her, visibly alarmed, the ball lying still in his white-knuckled grip; his shoulders tensing more and more with each passing heartbeat. She had to  _say_  something now, not just leave him fretting like that. Otherwise, he might explode.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just…memories. I was sorry to hear about what happened. It must have been very difficult for you and Obi-Wan.”

He relaxed, and bowed his head in acknowledgement of her sympathy. He gently floated the ball he’d been playing with back into place. “We…both miss him,” he said at last. “We don’t talk about it much. It’s…complicated.”

“I can only imagine,” she said, then got moving again, adding another shawl to her ready bag.

“But Obi-Wan and I are working together now,” he went on. “And it’s…it’s  _good,_  we work well together. He’s a great mentor.”

And now they were back in familiar territory. Sort of. “But sometimes you wonder about how things might be different?”

He flushed, and turned back to the window, staring out at traffic. “Obi-Wan and I have been…disagreeing, lately,” he confessed. “About whether or not I should take my Trials. And it’s awful, and of course I haven’t  _said_  it, but–-” He broke off, and shook his head. “I don’t even know  _how_  it would have been different, just that it would have been. I mean, he was holding Obi-Wan back, I think, but I’m not Obi-Wan, so…” He winced a little. “Sorry. I’m–sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she said.

She hadn’t known that before, about Obi-Wan. She also wasn’t sure whether or not it was actually true, or if it was just how Anakin had perceived it. Obi-Wan  _had_  been older than most senior Padawans she’d known when he’d come to Naboo, but, to be fair, most of the ones she’d known she hadn’t even met until the war.

And the war changed  _everything._

A lot of them, she thought, had been rushed through the final stages of their training to meet the military’s needs. Anakin–-may have been one of them. He’d been  _close,_  she thought, but she had no way of knowing for sure. And while he’d been a brilliant general, the relationship between that and what the Jedi normally looked for was unclear.

In any case, the war  _itself_  had pushed him. It had pushed  _all_  of them-–she couldn’t help but think of Ahsoka, of course, and Barriss Offee, too. All of the young Jedi had grown up fast, and grown up hard, and maybe missing a few things along the way.

She couldn’t prevent that, or at least not entirely. It was too late to stop the war. She’d accepted that from the beginning. But that didn’t mean she had to  _like_  it. That didn’t mean she couldn’t try to make up for it, somehow.

“Anakin…” she said quietly, then stopped. There were so many things she wished she could say, and none of them–all of them were too close to the truth.

And the truth would only hurt him.

“Don’t…don’t try to grow up too fast,” she finally said.

“But I am grown up,” he said, turning back from the window with a slightly crooked smile. Trying to lighten the mood, maybe. “You said so yourself.”

And she had meant something  _entirely_  different then. She flushed a little, her eyes drawn again to his hands, remembering.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “I did,” she admitted, feeling the heat of his eyes on her. She looked up to meet his gaze and held it, taking half a step towards him.

“I-I…” He stammered a little, flustered and uncertain. “Padme…I…” He took a deep, shaky breath, and–-

Looked down and away. His hands clenched briefly, then disappeared up his sleeves, and he took a step  _back._

“…Ani?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should…I should let you finish packing. Milady. I’ll be right outside, if you need me.” He sketched a hasty bow, then strode out without waiting for her acknowledgement, adjusting his path minutely so he wouldn’t crash into Dorme, who was coming in.

Dorme blinked and watched him go, then turned to Padme with one eyebrow raised. “Is everything all right, milady?”

Padme took a deep breath of her own, and let it out slowly.

_What…what just happened? What did I do wrong? Was it too much, too fast? Or-–or maybe he felt Dorme coming? He wasn’t that careful last time, but…well, he’s more careful in general now. That would make sense…_

“Milady?” Dorme asked again.

“Everything’s fine,” she said, and sighed a little. “Everything’s perfectly fine.”

 

* * *

 

Their departure from Coruscant, huddled on the cramped, crowded deck of the refugee freighter, went almost exactly as it had the first time. Except that Anakin was a little quieter, withdrawn and pensive. He kept–-stopping, just short of touching her. Even innocent touches, like taking her wrist or putting a hand at the small of her back to guide her along or keep her close in a crowd.

Even in public, in their other life, he hadn’t been so discreet.

She found herself missing it. Not the–-well, all right, yes, the kissing and the more romantic touches, too, but just the little things like that.  _Closeness,_ however casual.

If she couldn’t feel the heat in his eyes, hear the hint of desperate, almost wistful longing every time he spoke, she would have been worried he didn’t–-that something Master Jinn had done with him had changed him enough that he didn’t love her anymore.

But, no; she might not be a Jedi and able to  _actually_  sense his feelings, but she  _knew_  him. She knew how to read his expressions, the tone of his voice, the level of care with which he chose his words. He  _did_  love her, just as he had before. All she had to do was get him to admit it.

She waited until they were settled on the ship, then decided to try the same conversation they’d had the first time around. It had pushed them in the right direction then, after all–-why not now?

“It must be difficult,” she said, “having sworn your life to the Jedi. Not being able to visit the places you like…or do the things you like…”

“Or be with the people I love,” he said, then caught himself and flushed. “Like my…my mother; I haven’t seen her in years. Not since Master Qui-Gon and I went to free her.”

The impact of that particular change jolted through her, almost like an electric shock, and she could have  _cried_  with relief. Not just because…not just because of what losing her had done to Anakin the first time–-though, even if this lifetime lasted a thousand years, she didn’t think she’d  _ever_  forget the hell in his eyes when he confessed what he’d done that awful morning in his stepfather’s garage-–but also because she’d  _liked_  Anakin’s mother quite a bit. Shmi Skywalker had deserved a _much_ better life than the one she’d been forced to live. Even if nothing else–even if the worst should happen, if everything else still went horribly wrong, Padme could be grateful for this one, purely positive change.

“Do you know where she is now?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not…not exactly,” he admitted. “But I know she’s safe. That’s enough. Master Qui-Gon said…” He sighed. “He said it was better that way. Better, for both of us, if I let her go.”

“Oh,” she said. “Is that…it really is forbidden, then, for a Jedi to love? Even their family?”

He flinched a little, and looked down at his bowl. “It’s not…that simple.  _Attachment_  is forbidden.  _Possession_  is forbidden. But that’s not…those aren’t love, exactly, I don’t think. They… _look_  like it, maybe, especially from the inside. But love, real love, is more…it’s not like that.”

“Because it’s unconditional?” she asked. He’d said that, or at least hinted at it, the first time; linking it to compassion. She didn’t remember the exact words, but it had been…nice. Even if she was fairly sure it was  _not_  correct, orthodox interpretation of the Jedi Code.

“Something like that,” he said.

He was clearly uncomfortable with the subject, so she let it drop, for now. So she’d talked about other things, instead–-about home, about her own family, about some of the work she’d been doing lately. Hoping to draw him out of this strange new shell, somehow.

It didn’t work as well as she’d hoped; he said very little. But she did have his undivided attention, and every so often she caught the ghost of a wistful, fond smile before he looked away.

She could work with that. And when they got to the lake house–-yes. She could build something beautiful from here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter basically consists of a role-reversal of the canon Varykino sequence. And parts of that storyline can come across as a little…um…I'm not sure what word I want to use here. Pushy, maybe? Especially in prose form, with a close POV, that goes into detail in a way film really can’t. And that doesn't really change when it's Padme doing the pushing instead of Anakin. (Plus, while she’s aware of this intellectually, it takes a while for it to sink in, emotionally/etc., that she's not dealing with Anakin after three years of marriage. Add in the fact she shares his tendency to go full-tilt at something once she’s made up her mind to do it…)
> 
> (Also, they are, like, two of the biggest drama queens in the universe. EVERYTHING is dialed up to at least eleven as a result).
> 
> Anyway. All of that being said, I don’t think she’s any pushier than Anakin is in canon, and I did my best to limit the other potentially distressing factors, while still making it clear why she handles things the way she does. But I wanted to give a head’s up, in case that's a problem for anyone (NB: every time I reread this, I change my mind on how much of an issue it might be...so I may be overreacting, but I figured better safe than sorry, hence the note).

Varykino.

At long, long last, Padme and Anakin had arrived at the retreat. And, despite the fact that their trip had been uneventful, and their audience with Queen Jamillia had been slightly more decorous than the first time, she’d still been carrying some kind of tension in her shoulders right up until the moment the lake house came into view.

But now they were here–-where they’d been  _happy_ –-and she could finally relax.

The gondola bumped to a gentle halt at the dock. Anakin leapt out with easy grace and offered her a hand.

She accepted it with a smile–his hand was warm and steady and sure, calloused in a familiar, comforting way. “Thank you,” she said, once she’d joined him on the dock.

He bowed silently in acknowledgement; then, half a heartbeat later, seemed to realize he’d forgotten to let go of her hand. He flushed and dropped it. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t be,” she said, which only made him turn redder.

“I…uh,” he stuttered, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We should…we should go on up, Pa–-milady. We’re more exposed than I like down here.”

“All right,” she said, and lifted her skirt out of the way so she could.

He walked with her, between her and the railing where he had the flexibility to defend her against a threat coming from any direction. He was quiet, and seemed a little nervous. She thought, for half a second, about tripping and letting him catch her–-it might break the tension a little bit, and it would be nice for him to  _hold_  her, however briefly. Plus, he seemed shy, much more so than he had been last time, and that sort of thing always worked in the cheap romance novels she definitely did not read.

On the other hand, that risked damaging her dress, and it was one of her favorites. And she and Anakin had a few days here, at least. Probably. There would be plenty of time to be held.

Besides, it was…nice, to just walk beside him for a moment, their hands almost-but-not-quite touching in a dance they’d perfected (they would perfect?) over the course of their marriage. Although she could have done without his obvious nerves, sharpening the sweet stillness of the quiet moment.

Evidently, it was starting to wear on him, too; just as they reached the top of the stairs, he said, “It’s…very beautiful here.” He glanced down at her, and quickly looked away.

“It is,” she agreed. “It’s one of my favorite places in the whole galaxy.”  _Because of you. …well, I mean–-not only you, and not like–-I wouldn’t use this as an excuse to call_ you  _beautiful, although you are, but–-memories. My memories of you here are–-good. That’s all._

And now  _she_  was blushing, and profoundly grateful for her extensive experience in professional politics giving her a halfway decent verbal filter. Because otherwise that would have been–-

She would have revealed a  _lot_  more than she could  _ever,_  in good conscience, tell him.

“I can see why,” he was saying, staring out over the lake, his hands drifting aimlessly over the balcony railing.

“I’ve been coming here for years,” she said. “Ever since I was a little girl. We would come here for school retreats, and swim out to that island every day. We would lie on the beach and let the sun dry us, and try to guess the names of the birds singing.”

It was the same story she’d told last time, the one that had gotten him to kiss her-–with a  _slight_  difference. Hopefully, it would get her the same result without upsetting him first. She wanted this to be a  _purely_  happy place for him, without reminding him accidentally of how-–different their childhoods had been. How painful his was, by comparison.

“I’ve never done that before,” he said. “Anything like that.”

“Well, we’re here now,” she said, her hand slipping over to rest on his. “We could.”

He looked down at her, at their joined hands. “We could.”

She leaned up to kiss him–it felt like the right thing to do, just as she’d hoped. Just like last time, And, for one blissful moment, he softened against her. She was about to reach up, to wrap her arms around him and deepen the kiss, when–-

He pulled away. Again.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, withdrawing his hand as well and gripping the railing tight. “I’m sorry.”

“I–I’m sorry,” she echoed, a little uncertain.  _This isn’t like him…_

He cleared his throat and pushed away from the railing. “If you’ll…if you’ll excuse me, Senator, I really should…I should familiarize myself with the…with the perimeter.”

“I…of course,” she said. “If that’s what you think is best.”

He bowed. “Thank you, milady.” With quick, sure steps, he crossed the deck and went back down the stairs at the side.

_That…went about the same as last time, at least?_  she thought, watching him go with no little confusion. It certainly could have gone  _worse._  But it hadn’t–-it was not at  _all_  what she’d expected to happen, when she kissed him.

She sighed, and leaned against the railing, staring out over the water.  _I wonder why he pulled away…_

The soft, familiar silhouette of the island on the horizon had no answers.

 

* * *

 

“You don’t like politicians very much, do you,” she said.

They were out in the meadow by the waterfalls, enjoying each other and a pretty afternoon, and somehow the conversation had wandered here, just like it had before.

“Well, one or two,” he said, with a faint smile, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure the system works.”

Oh, yes.  _This_  conversation, she remembered all too well.  _I should have paid more attention here,_  she thought.  _I think this was one of the warning signs._

Forewarned was forearmed, though. With any luck, she could use this opportunity to start to gently maneuver him someplace less…dangerous.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

His answer was a surprise.

“It’s…hard to explain.” He shredded a blade of grass and tossed it aside. “I know how it’s  _supposed_  to work, but…something is fundamentally broken, in the way the Republic  _actually_  functions. Or doesn’t, half the time. But the problem is, the only thing I can think of to replace it would be…it would be worse.”

“Oh?” she asked, very carefully.  _If he, somehow, already_ realizes  _what I think he’s hinting at…_

That was a good sign for the future. A  _very_  good sign.

“Someone  _makes_  the others shut up, listen to each other, and agree on a course of action,” he said flatly.

She paused. “That sounds an awful lot like a dictatorship to me.”  _Well, we’re halfway there, at least. He acknowledges it would be a bad idea._

“Yeah,” he said. “And–-things  _do_  get done that way. But what’s sacrificed is…” He trailed off, and sighed. “Like I said. It would be worse, in the long run.”

“It would,” she agreed, relieved.  _It’s a start, anyway._

“I don’t know,” he said again, then smiled at her. Oh, that smile. “I’m not all that great at politics. These are questions someone else can answer. Someone wise.”

Her breath caught.  _Oh._  She knew she should probably try to walk him back from that thought, too, at least a little bit; but he was looking at her, in a way that–it was warm, and intense, and full of complete  _faith,_  and entirely for her.

“You’re teasing me,” she said.

“Never,” he replied, soft and earnest.

For a moment, they sat there, just–-letting that hang between them, locked on each other’s eyes. Then, slowly, he reached up as if to touch her face, and she leaned in, and–-

He broke eye contact, flushing and dropping his hand, scanning the horizon instead. “Hey, do you know if anyone actually rides the shaaks?” he asked, a little too brightly.

“I…what?” It took a second to wrench her thoughts out of the moment she’d thought they were having and catch up to him.

“I bet I could,” he said, getting to his feet. “Watch this.”

“Anakin–-”

But he was already off.

_What…what just happened?_  she asked herself,  _again._  Was this another thing Master Jinn had changed somehow?

She groaned a little, frustrated, and flopped back in the grass, staring up at the clouds.  _We were_ right there.  _He was about to kiss me, I_ know  _he was!_

She found herself, for the first time since learning about it, deeply resenting the Jedi Master’s extended influence in her beloved’s life.

And then she felt a sharp stab of guilt, because in the grand scheme of things, it appeared to be a net positive for Anakin’s overall stability. Besides, Master Jinn and Obi-Wan had been so close, it must have meant the  _world_  to him to have his Master a little bit longer–-or, well, it would have, if he’d known the alternative.

Master Jinn’s impact on her ability to kiss her husband, by comparison, was a small, petty thing.

“I am a horrible person,” she announced to the sky, then sighed, gathered her skirts, and stood up to follow Anakin. The herd here didn’t tolerate riders very well–-he hadn’t gotten hurt when he’d been thrown the first time, but if that changed, she wanted to be there to help him.

And she tried, with all her might, to stop fretting about that almost-kiss.

 

* * *

 

Padme found him, late that evening, in the darkened sitting room, curled up on the couch and staring pensively into the fire.

She hesitated in the doorway for a moment, trying to decide the best way to-–this had turned out to be a lot harder than she’d expected. She had a new appreciation and understanding for how hellishly awkward Anakin had been the first time around. Even for her, whose  _job_  it was to put difficult concepts into words, it was hard, so hard, to do that with a love like theirs. Hard to be the first one to speak.

Almost as hard as it was to stay silent. To resist.

But they’d danced around it long enough. It was time for her to take a more direct approach.

Steeling herself, she slipped into the room to join him. As she came up behind the couch, she absently, on instinct–-or maybe muscle memory–-she ran her fingers through his hair.

_…oops._

She had always done that; she loved its softness, the way the texture was subtly different each time he came home to her, as it grew out.

But they weren’t together now (not yet, at least). She had to remember that. So he wasn’t–-she didn’t get to play with his hair like this.

She was about to withdraw and apologize–- _way to get the conversation off to a good start, Padme_ –-but then…

He leaned into her caress, just a little, just enough that she felt it, his eyes drifting closed.

It felt like–-

It felt like  _home._

Her heart ached to see and feel him slowly relaxing under her touch, just like he used to do; quiet, despite everything, if only for a moment; flickers of warm light danced across his face, his lashes casting soft shadows on his cheek; _beautiful._ (He had always called her beautiful; she wasn’t really sure he knew that he was, too.)

And she longed to sit next to him, to pull him against her, to kiss him and just make this moment last as long as she could because it was never,  _never_  enough; and he was so sweet and sad and handsome and  _kind,_  and she wanted him to  _stay_  that way, like he was now, like he had been–not here at Varykino the first time, but not at the end, either; a year ago in her memory, maybe–-weary and scarred, yes, but not yet broken; and she…and she…

“I wish…” she said, and her voice caught.

He looked up at her, eyes opening wide and dark and soft and so, so sad in the firelight.

_…is this cruel?_  she asked herself.  _Am I–-am I being cruel to him?_  She knew how he felt-–he was just as transparent as he had been last time–-but every time he touched her, he pulled back as if he’d been burned. She just couldn’t figure out  _why._  He was trying, maybe, to be what he was supposed to be. To be a good Jedi, and keep his distance, and follow the rules.

Maybe she should stop. Step away. Let him stay at arm’s length, if that was what he really wanted. If that would ease the pain burning in his eyes, then–-

_No,_  she thought.  _No, he_  loves  _me, and telling him he can’t–-_ isolating  _him–-will only hurt him a different way. Either way, it hurts us_ both.  _And either way, it opens a…it maybe lets Palpatine in. But if I keep him close, I can_ help  _him this time. I know what I’m doing now. I can_  save  _him, before it’s too late. And if–-and if it’s going to hurt either way…at least we’ll have each other. And the pain will be worth it, because there was_ joy, _too. We can have that again. If we’re together, we can–-we can have that again. And this time, we_ won’t  _lose it._

Not that they could stay  _exactly_ like this, in this moment, forever–-as much as she would like that, people changed; things changed, and not all change was evil. But they would have each other. Everything else–-everything else was details. They could handle it as it came.

“I wish…” she repeated, and stroked his hair one last time, searching for the right words.

“I know,” he whispered, and closed his eyes again.

She sighed, and reluctantly pulled her hand away. She moved around the couch to sit next to him. He shifted-–not withdrawing, just making room. He pulled his cloak a little closer around him, hands disappearing up his sleeves the way they always did when he was nervous.

For a moment, the two of them just sat there. Side by side, not touching, not even looking at one another; the air heavy with all the things they were about to say.

A log snapped in the fireplace, the noise startling her a little and cutting through the still tension.

She took a deep breath, and finally spoke. “Anakin,” she started, then, “Ani, I…these past few days, here with you, have been…” She trailed off, trying to find the right word.  _Confusing. Thrilling. Intoxicating. Magical._

“A dream,” he finished for her. He looked up at her, eyes soft and shadowed and full of all the love she could have wished for-–and pain. There was so much pain there, still; it broke her heart. “It’s been…it’s been like a dream.”

“Yes,” she said. She reached out and touched his hand. He didn’t pull away. “And I don’t…I don’t want it to end.”

He looked away and swallowed. “I can’t,” he said, his voice breaking a little. “I  _can’t._  It’s not that I don’t want-–would ever _not_ want–-but…” His hand was trembling against hers. “From the moment I met you, all those years ago, not a day goes by where I don’t…think of you. And being near you again is…it’s…I-I look at you, and I…I can’t breathe. There’s nothing I…” He paused. Took a breath. Tried again. “I would die for you,” he finished simply. “I would do  _anything_  for you. But I…”

Silence for a moment, other than the soft crackling of the fire.

“All you…all you have to do, all you’ll ever have to do for me is–-is be there. Be you.” She lightly touched his cheek, turning his head to face her. “All right?”

His eyes drifting shut once more, he leaned into her hand a little. “I don’t want to make your life harder,” he whispered. “I don’t want…to hurt you.”

“So you’re…so you’re walking away from me?” This wasn’t-–this didn’t feel  _real._  Anakin wasn’t–-he hadn’t–-

_Since when is_ Anakin  _the practical one in_  any  _relationship?_

“What else can I do?” he pleaded, opening his eyes and meeting hers again at last. They were glittering a little in the firelight, with unshed tears. “How would it end? If we do this, if we stay here in this dream, if we–-it would destroy us.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” she said, gripping his hand a little tighter. Her voice cracked a little, and her own eyes had started burning. “We can find a way, we can make this work, Ani–-”

He pulled his hand away and stood up. He was actively crying now; he ran his sleeve over his eyes to wipe it away. “I am…here, to protect you, Padme,” he said, very quietly, then corrected himself. “Milady.”

“Anakin,” she said.

He paled a little. He wouldn’t look at her. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He turned and fled, without remembering to bow.

_This is–-this is_  wrong.  _How did it all go so wrong? How can I–-how can I_  help  _him if he won’t_ let  _me? How can I–-how can–-_

He was leaving her.

Her world was crashing down around her because it felt like he was  _leaving_  her. And, no, they weren’t  _technically_  together yet, not here, but she  _remembered_  being married to him for three years, and  _he_  had been the one pushing for this the first time, but now–-now–-

She couldn’t imagine her life without him in it. Without his smile to look forward to, even at a distance; without his love to sustain her through the dark times ahead. Just the thought of it was–-

“Don’t go,” she whispered, even though it was too late and he couldn’t hear her now. “Please don’t go. Stay with me. Stay with me, please…”

Only the hollow crackling of the fire answered her.

She buried her face in her hands and cried.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, things didn’t seem  _quite_  so bleak the next morning.

_It’s not that he doesn’t want this,_  she reminded herself.  _He said that himself. It’s that–-he feels that he_ can’t _have it. I know what’s that like._

It was, in fact, the  _exact same_  position she’d been in the first time around. Which meant that he would come around. Eventually. Just like she had.

_Hopefully, it won’t require another mutual near-death experience…_

In the meantime, she just had to be patient, and trust in his love for her. It didn’t really make it hurt any less, and it sure as hell wasn’t easy, but it was something she could do.

The two of them settled into a routine of sorts after that–discussion. Anakin wasn’t  _avoiding_  her–he was too faithful a protector to do that–but he might as well have been. She would catch him looking at her, sometimes, with a wistful, longing expression on his face; she knew he had caught her doing the same. But they never touched, not even by accident, and only rarely spoke. There were certainly no more picnics in the meadow, or long, intimate dinners, or desperate confessions by the fire. They simply–-existed, side by side, in the same time and place, but unable to intersect.

It was complete and utter  _agony._  The second-worst week of her life; beat only by the one leading up to her death in the other timeline.

And he-–he seemed tired now, drained; she knew he wasn’t sleeping well.

Neither was she.

She tried to at least get some work done. If nothing else, it filled the time. And, even if she was out of contact for safety reasons, there was still research she could do; memos or even bills she could start drafting, to act on when she finally returned to Coruscant.

The time was…less than productive. It was impossible to focus, with Anakin so close, and yet entirely out of reach.

And then, finally, in the early afternoon of the third day of this hell, everything changed.

“Padme?”

She looked up. She was in her study; he’d been out in the garden until about twenty minutes ago, running saber drills. She had watched out her window for a while until he finished his kata and disappeared from view, then returned to her desk.

He was tense, his hands hidden in his sleeves again.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I have a…there’s a…situation.” He paused. “I need to show you something. May I?”

“Of course.” She cleared a bit of space off her desk, and he set his comm on there, keying up a recorded hologram.

One she  _remembered._

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan’s tinny voice came through the little speaker, “my long-range transmitter has been knocked out. Retransmit this message to Coruscant. I have tracked the bounty hunter Jango Fett to the droid foundries on Geonosis. The Trade Federation is to take delivery of a droid army here, and it is clear that Viceroy Gunray is behind the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala. The Commerce Guilds and the Corporate Alliance have both pledged their armies to Count Dooku, and are forming a–wait. Wait.” He pulled out his lightsaber, met by blaster bolts and then disappeared from view, replaced by a pair of droidekas.

“Oh,” she said.

“Master Windu is going to help him,” he said, studying the empty space where the hologram had been. “But Coruscant is–-far. I have to…please understand. This isn’t–this isn’t about what we…what we discussed the other night. And I know I…made a promise. I know I have a responsibility to you, I know where my duty lies. I was given strict orders to stay here and protect you. But I…I  _have_  to go help him. He’s…I know he’s still alive, and he’s in trouble, and he’s all–he’s my–he’s like my…” He trailed off, then turned beseeching eyes on her. “Please, understand.”

“Of course,” she said again, without hesitation. Even if she hadn’t agreed with him already, she never had been able to resist those eyes. “I understand completely. Of  _course_  you need to go. I’ll go with you.”

“I…what?”

“I’ll go with you,” she repeated. “That way, no promise of yours is being broken. Besides, I can help.”

“What–no, Padme… _Padme,_  it’s too dangerous. We don’t know exactly what…what he’s facing.” He took a deep breath. “I  _can’t_ let you–-”

“You can’t  _stop_  me,” she cut him off evenly.

He blinked.

She softened her voice. “He’s my friend, too, you know,” she said. “And even if he wasn’t, I owe him-–you know what I owe him.”

He nodded. “Yes. I remember.”

“So,” she said. “ _You_  can do what you like, but  _I’m_  going to go save Obi-Wan. If you want to follow your orders and protect me, you’ll just have to come along.”

“I-–” He cut himself off, and smiled at her, a slow, crooked smile. The one that meant adrenaline and adventure and explosions but  _damn_  it all if he wouldn’t come out with a stunning victory in the end.

She  _really_  loved that smile.

“I guess I can’t really argue with that,” he said. “I’ll go and get your ship prepped, then. Milady.”

“You do that,” she said. “I’ll meet you there.”

He bowed and turned to go, picking up his pace until he was almost at a dead run when he hit the garden.

Only then, when he was out of sight, did she let herself sag a little, worried.

_Geonosis._

Where Anakin would lose his arm.

Where the Clone Wars were about to begin.

 

* * *

 

_I…may have overreached,_  Padme thought.

They were standing in the chariot in the arena’s staging area; the cuffs were digging into her wrists; Anakin was ramrod-straight and silent at her side. Attempting to rescue Obi-Wan had gone  _exactly_  as well as it had the first time.

She’d hoped–-she’d hoped that, with Anakin on a more even keel, between Master Jinn’s prolonged influence and the fact that he wasn’t still reeling from his mother’s death, they might have had a better outcome.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid,_  she thought.  _We’ll get out of it, probably, just like we did before, but–I- exposed us to unnecessary risk._

Well, it wasn’t  _entirely_  her fault. He  _had_  been planning to go by himself. At least this way, he wasn’t here alone.

She stole a glance up at him. His head was bowed, his eyes closed. Preparing himself, for what was about to happen. So far as he knew.

The Geonosians fluttered around them, and at last he stirred a little.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, quietly.

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid to die.” She wasn’t. She’d been through that once before, after all. And it wasn’t the  _dying_  so much as  _how_  it had happened.

And-–the leaving people behind. Obi-Wan, Bail, her children…

Suddenly, everything around her crystalized into a moment of perfect clarity.

_Now or never,_ she told herself.  _Whether things change from here or not, if you don’t take this moment, you will never get another one._

She took a deep breath, and continued. “I’ve been…I’ve been dying a little bit each day, since you came back into my life.”

He opened his eyes and looked down at her. “Padme…”

“I love you,” she said, and she realized–-maybe  _that_  had been her mistake. On the balcony, in the meadow, even by the fire–-she’d been so caught up in the moments, in the history she was trying to save that…

She hadn’t  _said_  it. Not in those words. Not straight out. Not in this lifetime.

And Anakin–-Anakin needed to  _hear_  these things. He always had. Which meant she needed to  _say_  it. Explicitly and often.

_I’m sorry. Oh, my love, I’m sorry._

He sucked in a little, strangled, almost sobbing breath. “You love me,” he said. “But-–we…we  _talked_  about this. We would–-I would–-if we–-it would destroy our lives.”

“I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyway,” she pointed out.  _For a given value of ‘destroyed.’ Even if–-even_ though _we survive the arena, there’s still the war on the horizon._  She met his eyes, held his gaze. “And I don’t care about that, anyway.”

_“Padme,”_  he breathed.

“I truly, deeply love you,” she said, enunciating each word carefully. “And before we die, I want you to know.”

For a split second, he did nothing, just looked into her eyes, searching for–-something; she didn’t know what. Then he nodded, once, and smiled softly, and he leaned down, as far as the restraints would allow, and–-

For the first time since Padme had woken up in this strange, altered past,  _Anakin_  kissed  _her._

It only lasted a moment, before the Geonosian guards pulled them apart and the chariot began to move, but–-

Anakin had kissed her, at last.

Anakin  _loved_  her, still.

Despite the danger all around them, she smiled, and shifted her hands in her bonds just enough to brush his fingertips with hers.

He smiled back down at her again, eyes soft and warm and finally showing all the love she knew he felt, melting the pain away to nothing.

And for that–-for  _that_  alone, that look in his eyes, that smile, it was all worth it.

With the taste of him still sweet on her lips, she squared her shoulders and held her head high as they entered the arena and the First Battle of Geonosis began.

 

* * *

 

She reached the landing platform at a dead run, her heart in her throat. So much had  _changed,_  so much was different than the history she remembered, that even though everything here on Geonosis had gone almost exactly the same–-

When she rounded the corner and saw the body on the floor, she stopped.

Count Dooku’s sightless eyes stared up at her, mildly surprised above the still-smoking hole in his chest.

_That…that changes_  everything.

Would there even  _be_  a war now? Well, maybe-–Dooku wasn’t the only Separatist leader–-but would it be as long? Would it be as terrible?

Everything–- _everything_  from here on was up in the air. Even Qui-Gon Jinn’s survival couldn’t have changed things this much. Except, maybe, in changing Anakin just enough to let it happen.

And Anakin–-

She spotted him, a few feet off to the side, dazed and semi-conscious, a deactivated, borrowed lightsaber hilt dangling from his left hand.

His  _only_  hand.

“Ani!” She stepped hurriedly past Dooku’s body and knelt at his side, splaying one hand lightly across his chest and tilting his chin towards her with the other.

He blinked confusedly at her for a second, then his eyes finally focused. “Padme,” he said. “You’re…you’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she assured him, resisting the urge to kiss his hand.

“Good,” he said. “Good. That’s…that’s good.” And then his eyes slid shut and he slumped against her, unconscious.

She held him close for a long moment, reassuring herself that he was still breathing, his heart was still beating, he was just–-hurt.

_He survived this before. He will again._

And then she remembered where she was.  _Witnesses, Padme,_  she lectured herself, then gently lowered Anakin to the ground.

_Without_  kissing his forehead, tempting as it was. She was sort of proud of herself for that.

She took a breath and looked up at the clones who had accompanied her. “The–-the Jedi need medical attention. One of you–-is one of you a medic?” There  _should_  be one, this was a full squad. But she wasn’t supposed to know that yet. And they hadn’t really started differentiating their armor much, so she couldn’t have picked him out anyway.

“Uh, I am, Senator,” one of them said, stepping out of line and saluting her. “CT-6116.”

“Right,” she said. “Do you…do you have a name, or just a number?”

“Uh.” He shifted a little uncomfortably. “They call me Kix, sir.”

“Right,” she said again. “Is there anything I can do to help you, or should I just get out of your way?”

“You’re injured, too,” Obi-Wan pointed out from across the platform. He hadn’t moved since she’d arrived, which worried her a little.

_…wait, I remember this. Anakin told me; Dooku cut him, severed a key tendon or maybe damaged a nerve cluster?_  Whichever it was, it was reasonably easy to fix with bacta and maybe a minor surgery, but for the moment, his wounded leg would not bear any weight at all.

And he wasn’t wrong about her. The scratches on her back twinged, and she could feel them start bleeding again as she shifted away to give Kix room to work-–he seemed to have taken her question as permission to go ahead and do his job–-but, comparatively…

“I can wait,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll live,” he said, and carefully sat up. “Thank you,” he added, after a beat. “For trying to rescue me.”

“Of course,” she said.

And then she almost–-almost went on; almost told him what she and Anakin had said, what they had almost done.

But she stopped herself, just in time, and shut her mouth. They hadn’t  _technically_  done anything yet that would need to be confessed. And, while she  _did_  want to read Obi-Wan in this time, as soon as it was practical, she couldn’t do that without Anakin’s approval.

_Maybe I’ll tell my sister, too,_  she thought absently, watching as Kix got Anakin secured on a stretcher and moved on to tend to Obi-Wan.  _And my handmaidens. Rather than just letting them fill in the banks. Maybe Bail, too?_

She would give the idea some serious thought. True, each person they brought in on the secret made it a little less secure, but a wider support system would probably be better in the long run, for both of their peace of mind.

A second squad of troops arrived as Kix was getting Obi-Wan loaded up, to secure the landing platform, and she could no longer delay getting dragged off by the medics herself.

But that was okay–-Anakin was being seen to, and so was Obi-Wan. And she knew where to find him later, after his surgery. When he was stable and conscious and able to talk.

_And then,_  she thought, leaning forward to allow the medic easier access to clean her wounds,  _then, I figure out my next move._

Because, with or without Dooku, there was still a war to win. She had a lot of work to do.

 

* * *

 

_He can never know what I’ve seen. It would break him. And I will not let that happen._

She had bullied her way past the Jedi healers to see him, just like last time, and whispered, “Marry me,” in his ear.

_“Marry_  me. I can’t lose you.”  _Again,_  she’d added silently, resisting the urge to tighten her grip on his hand.

He had held her gaze for a second, as if memorizing her face; fixing this moment in his mind forever. His eyes were clear; he was in some pain still, but not enough to cloud his thinking, and he wasn’t too heavily sedated. His answer would be real.

“Yes,” he’d whispered at last, and squeezed her hand. “Yes, I will marry you.”

And now they were here again, on the balcony at Varykino, making true vows under false names; his metal fingers cool against hers, his mouth warm and soft by contrast.

Everything was different now. She couldn’t predict what might happen next. But she knew, in her heart of hearts, that it would be  _better_  this time.

As if to prove her point, Anakin smiled down at her, shy and sweet and achingly beautiful. She smiled back, weaving her fingers tighter in with his, and made a second, private vow.

_I’m going to get it right this time. I’m going to save you. I promise._


	4. Coda

Anakin quietly extracted himself from the bed, trying to disturb Padme as little as possible, and padded out onto the balcony to look over the lake. He flexed his new hand idly as he went–-one of the exercises he was supposed to do, to strengthen the neural connections and complete the integration process.

Dooku had been a better duelist than Anakin had planned for; but in the end, there had been a chance, and he’d taken it. Unfortunately, he’d been reckless; rushed in unthinking and made too many mistakes of his own in the beginning. It had, in the end, required a sacrifice to make Dooku take the bait and actually give him the opening he’d needed to strike.

That was all right, though. It was a fair bargain, in his mind.

And it was strange, but–-perhaps not totally unexpected, that the metal prosthetic felt somehow more natural than his own flesh and bone. Even though it wasn’t fully integrated yet.

Because Anakin had a secret.

Because, ten years ago, Anakin Skywalker closed his eyes for the last time on a dying battlestation in the skies above Endor.

And, ten years ago, he had opened them again in the Council Chamber at sunset–-much larger than he remembered it–-with warm, firm hands lying heavy on his shoulders.

“I take Anakin as my Padawan Learner.”

_…did he really say that? I’d forgotten. No_ wonder  _Obi-Wan resented me so much at first._

Initially, he’d decided the experience was a dream–-a rather odd place to begin, and significantly more detailed than he would’ve thought, but proof of that theory that, in the moment of death, his life would flash before his eyes.

And then he got to the hangar.

On a whim, he’d activated his starfighter’s guns a few minutes early. Just  _sitting_  there had been boring; he’d never been good at being still, especially at this age.

And then he’d seen Maul and, not really expecting it to work, idly fired off a shot in his direction.

Most lightsabers were not really built to handle laser blasts from starfighters. They  _could_  deflect one–-but usually  _only_  one, and had a tendency to overload and short out for an hour or so after.

Maul’s, it seemed, was no exception.

He’d caught the blast with one side of his saberstaff, successfully deflecting it into a wall, causing a small explosion and shower of rock dust, but shorting out that blade.

Leaving him down to one.

For half a second, Anakin had frozen in his cockpit.

_That…that_ worked?  _I can_ change  _things?_

But then he’d remembered–-he had a control ship to destroy, a battle to help win. Everything else could wait.

When he returned to solid ground, he’d learned that Obi-Wan had again killed Maul (perhaps permanently this time) but, most likely due to the distraction Anakin had provided, Qui-Gon had survived.

After that, everything had been a blur for some time, as Anakin struggled to reconcile everything this meant–to say nothing of the fact that, young as he had become, his mind seemed to have some difficulty maintaining all of his memories. He could access everything if he went into a deep enough trance-–it was all  _there_ –-but consciously could only recall broad strokes. And his reactions, especially in the early days, were sometimes unpredictable as well-–at times, he responded as the approximately ten-year-old child he appeared to be; at times as the forty-something soldier he was.

Fortunately, his confusion and vacillating maturity were, it seemed, mostly put down to him being a rural child who had grown up under…less than ideal circumstances, overwhelmed by the vast, rapid changes in his life, to say nothing of Coruscant itself.

By the time he had reached equilibrium, several weeks had passed. He was mostly settled into the Temple by then, apprenticed to Qui-Gon as promised, and with enough knowledge of the hell he would rain down on the galaxy to  _do_  something about it.

But what?

His first thought, of course, had been to make his way to the Emperor’s apartment and murder him.

Fortunately, before he had actually climbed out the window to do so, he had recognized the two major flaws in this plan.

First: he was, at least for the moment, tiny and ineffectual. Success was  _vanishingly_  unlikely.

Second: either as a result of his unreliable memories or because he had never known–-or cared–-in the first place, he couldn’t be sure how much of the Emperor’s plan was already in place, able to continue without his direct oversight. While it might not be the same destructive force, the chaos that might be unleashed without its architect to shape it would likely ruin everything just the same. The clones, for one thing, were probably already in production, and who knew what else?

So he had, reluctantly, settled in to watch and wait, to prepare himself and gather the knowledge he would need to atone for what he’d done the first time.

The problem was, he wasn’t very  _good_  at patience, or at long-range planning. He never had been. There had always been a partner, an ally, who took care of that for him. And it became increasingly obvious that his new Master was, if anything,  _worse_  at thinking ahead than he was.

He’d needed help. And, once he admitted it to himself, there was really only one person he could turn to.

It had taken him six months to approach Obi-Wan, once he’d made the decision to do so-–his old Master was rarely in the Temple, and tended to avoid Anakin and Qui-Gon when he was. And, even after he made contact, it was several more before they were finally comfortable enough with one another that Anakin could broach the subject.

Finally, nearly two years after he’d arrived in the past, he had told him–-not everything; he  _still_  hadn’t told him  _everything–_ but enough. Another delay while Obi-Wan wrapped his head around it, and then they’d gotten to work.

Obi-Wan had started investigating, discreetly gathering what intelligence he could without pulling too hard on the web and alerting the Emperor to their activities. He had set Anakin to designing a way to remove the chips from the clones without being detected, as a failsafe if they couldn’t fix things before then. This without alerting the rest of the Order-–they had agreed that that would do more harm than good at this stage–meaning they had other duties, other missions, as well.

And then, when Anakin was approximately thirteen, Qui-Gon had been killed.

He suspected–-but would likely never be able to prove–-that the Emperor was responsible, if for no other reason than Qui-Gon hadn’t allowed him much access to Anakin. Which, at the time, had been a profound relief. Anakin wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to deceive the Emperor if they’d spent much time together. And, to be fair, he  _still_  wasn’t.

But after Qui-Gon’s death, he had been afraid for a moment–what if he wasn’t actually changing anything after all, at least not in any real, permanent sense? What if time–-the universe–-was  _course-correcting_  around him?

“If that’s the case,” Obi-Wan had pointed out, when he’d brought this up, “why did the Force send you back in the first place?”

It was a good point, and one he couldn’t really refute. But the concern had remained, buried deep in the back of his mind. He tried not to fixate on it too much. It would get in the way of his mission if he did.

And so, in the end, Obi-Wan had inherited him from Qui-Gon and become his Master again, and it had felt–-right.  _Natural._  Anakin had forgotten how  _good_  things had been, once upon a time.

Before he’d ruined it all.

Time had passed. They had worked together, overtly now as well as covertly, and quickly become something very close to the seamless Team he remembered. Not quite the same, because  _he_  wasn’t quite the same, but close enough.

It wasn’t until they were wrapping up a border dispute on Ansion that he realized when they were.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted–-he  _did,_  more than anything, want to…to see her again, hold her again. He wanted Luke and his sister to  _exist._

But he had a mission. He had a  _mission._  That  _had_  to come first. Besides which, this was something he had to  _earn._  He had no _right_ to–-maybe,  _maybe,_  when he succeeded, he would get a second chance.

Assuming, of course, that he survived.

So, he and Obi-Wan had searched for a way around the problem. They’d tried switching places–-sending Obi-Wan to Naboo and letting him go to Kamino instead. But, without telling the Council  _why_ –-which they still felt they couldn’t afford–-they couldn’t justify it.

And so he’d come to Varykino with her, as he had a lifetime ago, resolving to be  _good_  this time; resolving to keep his feelings to himself, and…

He’d forgotten, somehow, how much  _she_  had loved  _him._

Well, that wasn’t  _entirely_  true. Or, at least, it wasn’t exactly the right  _word._  He grasped it in the abstract, at least–-broad strokes–-but he’d been so focused on how it had all  _ended;_  on how he had lost her and his mission to avert that future, that he…

He had forgotten.

Until she’d kissed him on the balcony, in the arena.

Until they’d laughed in the meadow, despaired by the fire.

Until she’d held him after his duel with Dooku, after his surgery, and asked him for a vow.

And now here he was again, back at Varykino as before, despite all his good intentions; his wife-–his  _wife_ –-asleep in the bedroom behind him.

Because she loved him.

His good intentions would simply have to find another way.

 

* * *

 

He can never know

She can never know

What I’ve seen.

What I’ve done.

It would break him.

It would destroy her.

And I will not

And I  _cannot_

Let that happen.

I’m going to get it right this time.

I’m going to save you.

I promise.


End file.
